


Close

by fengirl88



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/pseuds/fengirl88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I hope you know what you're doing,” Charles says, eyeing the razor hovering level with his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [warriorbot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorbot/gifts).



> Written as a fill for the kink_bingo "shaving/depilation" square.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” Charles says, eyeing the razor hovering level with his face.

Erik grins wolfishly. “Trust me.”

 _With my life_ , Charles says in his mind.

The razor clatters to the floor. Charles winces.

“You broke my concentration,” Erik says, reproachful.

“I don't know why I let you talk me into this,” Charles says uneasily.

“You're the one who keeps saying we must challenge ourselves,” Erik teases him. “Or is this not what you had in mind?”

He bends his head and kisses Charles, a slow delicious kiss that pulls at something deep inside him.

“You know I can't think when you do that,” Charles protests. The blood's pounding in his ears and he feels breathless, held in the brightness of Erik's gaze.

“I like seeing you lose control,” Erik says, with a wicked grin that makes Charles's cock throb in anticipation.

“ _Erik_.”

“Mm,” Erik says thoughtfully. “Well, this isn't getting you shaved, is it? Let's see what we can do. Sit still and tell that busy mind of yours to be quiet, OK?”

“OK,” Charles says. He can't work out if closing his eyes would help or if that would just make it worse.

“Lather,” Erik says, snapping his fingers.

The shining metal bowl jumps from the dressing-table into Erik's left hand. He holds the brush in his right hand, turning it in the foaming soap.

“Pity there's no metal on this,” he says. “Maybe another time.”

 _If you don't cut my throat this time_ , Charles thinks.

“Calm your mind, my friend,” Erik says ironically.

He's a fine one to talk. Charles can feel the hum of Erik's excitement and right now he really wishes he couldn't.

 _Mostly_ wishes he couldn't. Part of him – the reckless stupid part Erik seems to have unleashed – is hell bent on sending all the blood in his body rushing to his cock.

Erik begins wielding the brush, stroking the lather over Charles's chin, his upper lip, his jawline. The brush passes just below Charles's earlobe, and he shudders.

“Sorry,” Erik says, and his lips twitch with amusement. “I didn't mean to tickle you.”

“You didn't,” Charles says tightly. He's fairly sure Erik knows that's not what his reaction meant.

“I can't kiss you when you're covered in soap,” Erik says, as if Charles is doing this on purpose to distract him.

“Erik – ”

“All right,” Erik says, not smiling any more. He puts down the bowl and stretches out his hand.

The cutthroat razor comes up from the floor, opens itself and comes to rest against Charles's cheek. Erik moves his hand slowly, gently, tracing an outline in the air that follows the line of Charles's face.

Charles feels the blade stroking down to his jaw, pressing slightly. Feels the air against his bared skin as the razor lifts and returns for a second swathe.

He tries not to imagine what it would be like to be shaved by Erik in the ordinary way. _Ordinary_ probably isn't the right word for it. The thought of Erik standing close to him, touching his face, leaning over him, the scent of him filling Charles's nostrils, is almost too much.

The razor jerks away quickly.

Cut?

No, he's OK. Well, as OK as anyone can be who's being shaved with a cutthroat razor wielded by the magnetic powers of his crazy lover. And who's crazy enough himself to have an erection because of that.

He is in _such_ trouble.

“Could you stop thinking about sex?” Erik says. “It's hard to concentrate and I don't want to nick you.”

Charles tries to make his mind go blank, or at least just concentrate on breathing. The razor glides gently up over his throat, hesitates over the curves of his chin and jaw, but keeps drawing its lines through the lather, careful and slow. Last of all, the blade strokes at his top lip, the small movements making him feel more exposed and vulnerable than ever.

“There,” Erik says, as the razor comes to rest on the dressing-table again. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

Charles isn't sure he can speak yet.

Erik wipes the last traces of lather away with the towel. His hands are hot against Charles's neck – for all his apparent calm it seems as if he's been affected by this too. He clicks his fingers for the bottle of cologne, unscrews the metal cap and tips some of the liquid into the palm of one hand, then the other. He puts his hands on Charles's face, cupping and stroking him.

Charles thinks he'll probably never smell that particular sharp citrusy smell again without getting hard, or without the ghost of Erik's own scent being mingled with it, leather and coffee and something else he can't quite pin down. He inhales blissfully, rubbing his smooth-shaven face against Erik's hands and pressing a soft kiss into each palm in turn.

Erik makes a noise in his throat, something between a growl and a sigh.

“Will I do?” Charles asks, looking up at him.

He doesn't need to read Erik's mind to know the answer; it's written all over him.

“Oh yes,” Erik says thickly. “You'll do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to ginbitch for beta brilliance, as always, and to thimpressionist and kate_lear for cheering me on.
> 
> This one is for warriorbot: welcome to the party!


End file.
